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Archive for January, 2017

Happy were he could finish forth his fate
In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure
From all society, from love and hate
Of worldly folk, there should he sleep secure;

Then wake again, and yield God ever praise;
Content with hip, with haws, and brambleberry;
In contemplation passing still his days,
And change of holy thoughts to make him merry:

Who, when he dies, his tomb might be the bush
Where harmless robin resteth with the thrush:
…………………Happy were he!

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storm1

 

She’s got her mad on; her name’s Gladys.
In fits like this, no one’s as mad as
That boiling tempest known as Gladys.
No other storm is near as bad as
Raging, roaring, shouting Gladys.
And none on earth are near as sad as
Those stomped upon by storming Gladys.

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The picture is mine, of an early morning storm.

———————————–

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Destruction
For a dandelion –
Survival!

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photo by Johnny Berg at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mrUlABK/Dandelion

——————-

* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/
——————–

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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The strings of camels come in single file,
Bearing their burdens o’er the desert sands.
Swiftly the boats go plying on the Nile –
The needs of men are met on every hand,
But still I wait
For the messenger of God who cometh late.

I see a cloud of dust rise on the plain.
The measured tread of troops falls on my ear.
The soldier comes, the empire to maintain,
Bringing the pomp of war, the reign of fear,
But still I wait
For the messenger of God who cometh late.

They set me watching o’er the desert drear,
Where dwells the darkness, as the deepest night;
From many a mosque there comes the call to prayer –
I hear no voice that calls on God for light.
But still I wait
For the messenger of God who cometh late.

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arizona-map


(while flying above Arizona)

No bird flies higher than we fly
Nor faster than we soar.
And all have quieter screech or squawk
Than our great engines’ roar.

We fly alone; birds can’t compete,
And cloudless is the sky.
The Arizona air and land
Are, in mid-summer, dry.

The almost-desert down below
Is but a stubbled face,
A two-day growth of scattered beard
That green does rarely grace.

The dark green dots I see are trees;
They run in necklace stands
In clumps with beaded twists and turns
Across the barren lands.

Thus in the heat where life is sparse,
They cling tenaciously
Where water runs or water ran –
Life’s wet necessity.

——————————

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant;
My great travail so gladly spent
………..Forget not yet!

Forget not yet when first began
The weary life ye know, since whan
The suit, the service none tell can;
………..Forget not yet!

Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in denays*,
………..Forget not yet!

Forget not! oh! forget not this,
How long ago hath been, and is
The mind that never meant amiss –
………..Forget not yet!

Forget not then thine own approved,
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved –
………..Forget not this!

——————————–

*denays – denies

 

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oosvx2y

A dry day.
Dragged my feet; touched you –
Small lightning.

———————

photo by Elvis Santana at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oosvx2y/lightning+over+grand+canyon+2

———————

* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/
——————–

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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The dappled die-away
Cheek and the wimpled lip,
The gold-wisp, the airy-grey
Eye, all in fellowship –
This, all this beauty blooming;
This, all this freshness fuming,
Give God while worth consuming.

Both thought and thew now bolder
And told by Nature: Tower;
Head, heart, hand, heel, and shoulder
That beat and breathe in power –
This pride of prime’s enjoyment
Take as for tool, not toy meant
And hold at Christ’s employment.
………The vault and scope and schooling
And mastery in the mind,
In silk-ash kept for cooling,
And ripest under rind –
What death half lifts the latch of,
What hell hopes soon the snatch of,
Your offering, and despatch, of!

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nvri6jk

I go to sleep upon the stairs,
Though I am in my bed.
I must descend the steps of cares
To lands where dreams are bred.

I later rise from on the stairs,
Though I am in my bed.
I blink awake from dreams and snares,
And upward slowly tread.

——————————–

photo by kirbycom (Roger) at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVri6jK/Victorian+Bedroom

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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Step lightly on this narrow spot –
The broadest Land that grows
Is not so ample as the Breast
These Emerald Seams enclose.

Step lofty, for the time be told
As far as Cannon dwell
Or Flag subsist or Fame export
Her deathless Syllable.

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